


The Beast and the Detective

by writteninweakness



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, incomplete au idea masquerading as an attempt at a one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninweakness/pseuds/writteninweakness
Summary: There's a vigilante at work known as "the Beast." Young detective Byleth just got tasked to find him, but it doesn't go according to plan.





	The Beast and the Detective

**Author's Note:**

> So my brain decided Dimitri had a lot in common with Bruce Wayne/Batman. It threw AU ideas at me like it does, and then it decided everything I wrote was crap and abandoned my efforts. So... I decided this part is probably it, since I no longer seem to be capable of writing full stories.
> 
> And I included a character from my other favorite game because I'm weak like that, and this isn't even the crossover idea I had. *shrugs* There was a whole subplot for this to be developed into part of the larger work, but I don't think I'll ever write it.

* * *

“Dimitri? There’s an accountant here to see you.”

He heard Ingrid’s confusion even as she tried to hide it and stick to mere formality. She managed her dual roles of secretary and security well on most days, but then there were days like this when he did things that surprised her, and she never hid that well, at least not to someone who knew her as well as he did.

“Send him in.” Dimitri offered no explanation to her, nor would he. Many things in this new Faerghus were his burden alone. Since taking the company back from his uncle, he’d had a lot of work to do in order to fix the damage done since his father’s death. Seeing how much his uncle had done made him even more reluctant to trust anyone, not that he could after Duscur. He wouldn’t.

And from the guest that entered, he’d say he was right not to.

“You are not expecting me. I am aware of this.”

Ingrid seemed to hesitate, but Dimitri waved her off. Even if this newcomer meant him some kind of harm, he didn’t doubt he could handle it himself. They were perhaps matched in height, and the coat the other man wore could conceal some body mass and muscle, but he was on the wiry side, even more so than Dimitri had been when he was younger.

“And yet you are here. I suppose you have a reason for that.”

The other man pushed his glasses up his nose. “I assume you suspected someone within your company of altering your financial records or you would not have consulted Ikkyu on the matter.”

Dimitri put on his usual corporate CEO charm. “Actual, an outside audit is not uncommon. It’s standard practice. The books should be seen by someone else at least once every few years. That was my father’s policy before mine.”

Folding his arms over his chest, the other man frowned. “Then perhaps it is nothing to do with your finances after all.”

Dimitri slipped, frowning against his better judgment. “What?”

“It is entirely possible it was simply Ikkyu’s dating habits that led to violence. I have long suspected that would be the case.” The other man shook his head. “Very well. I should go. I do not have time to—”

“He was attacked?” Dimitri had seen the accountant flirting with Ingrid, who’d been uncommonly flustered by his antics despite years of dealing with Sylvain and later picking a much better man. Her committed relationship was something Dimitri both envied and scorned, since she was a fool to have one when she was willing to die for him—and yet he was jealous she had that kind of thing at all.

He was alone. When this was all over, he’d die alone, no matter what his so-called friends thought.

“Yes.”

“And you thought it had something to do with me hiring him?”

“The timing was suspect,” the other man answered slowly. “You are the first major client he’s taken on in months, and he had an appointment with you today. To have it happen just before that time… I suppose I made some hasty conclusions. I didn’t have time to review all of the records myself, nor is accounting my mathematical specialty, so I had not found any discrepancies yet, and they may not even exist. My wife suggested I could find the number for Ikkyu’s sister at his home. I… was not supposed to become preoccupied by his work instead.”

“Something caught your attention.” Dimitri had suspected as much, which was, in fact, the true reason he’d hired an outside accountant to look at his company’s records. He’d denied it when this man first spoke of it, but that was expected. This one was also a stranger, and if he’d been a policeman, Dimitri didn’t want him near his financial records.

“It… Math often does. It is not so unusual.”

Dimitri studied him. “How long do you think it will be before your friend can finish his review?”

The other man winced. “I did not make his situation clear.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.” Taking off his glasses, he closed his eyes, making it clear that cleaning them on his shirt was not his real aim. “Though he is comatose and there is some chance of brain damage should he awaken.”

Damn it. Dimitri had a feeling it wasn’t his accountant’s dating habits, even if they were worse than Sylvain’s. “My company will cover his medical expenses.”

“That is not why I came.”

“No. I know it is not.” Dimitri stood. “I need to know if there was anything in those accounts that caused this. Not just for my peace of mind or anyone else’s. I’m sure you understand that.”

“I see.”

The impassive nature of the response wasn’t promising. Dimitri would ignore it, though, since he was still playing at being a CEO. “You can return the records to me if you do not want to undertake the risk yourself. I will find someone else.”

“No. If this led to Ikkyu’s current condition, I would rather see to it myself. The risk...”

“Is not nothing, not if they truly did harm your friend because of his work for me.”

“I am not… famous, not by any means, but I hold a doctorate in mathematics.” Replacing his glasses, the man faced Dimitri with a strange calm that he found himself envying. “It may be that they are unaware of this fact. However, it is also possible they already know, and if so… I already am at risk as Ikkyu’s only friend and likely confidante. I have already been to his home and seen the work he was doing. It would be foolish to involve anyone else.”

Dimitri nodded. “Very well. I will—”

He stopped as the door opened again, and Ingrid stepped in, her face betraying her apology before the words came out.

“I’m sorry, Dimitri. I didn’t want to interrupt, but… they’re rioting again.”

* * *

“_Proponents of stronger gun laws rallied in the streets today, nearly causing a riot in a clash with the police that was only stopped by the sudden arrival of the current CEO of Faerghus Industries. The young heir has already made a name for himself as a staunch advocate for gun control, speaking with great conviction born out of his own personal tragedy. Many see him as a figurehead for the movement, and others are already speculating that he will become one of the youngest senators in history, since many believe he will easily win his father’s former position in the senate as soon as he throws his hat into the race. Today would certainly seem proof of that as his appearance at the protest managed to quell the disturbance and send everyone on their way without violence. When asked for a statement, he declined, stating he had already given one. Raw footage from the protest shows yet another impassioned speech that—”_

“Turn that crap off,” an older detective ordered, and she didn’t doubt that if he wasn’t obeyed, he wouldn’t destroy the television in a heartbeat. “Damn idiots. If he had his way, he’d take the guns right out of our hands, and then where the hell would we be? We let the criminals have the guns and take them from the cops. May as well give this damn country anarchy.”

Byleth said nothing, letting one of the uniformed officers turn off the set. There was no point in changing the channel these days—the elections were coming, and after the latest mass shooting, gun control was the main focus of any debate. A candidate’s stance on that issue would likely determine whether or not they were elected. Plenty of people had opinions on it, and it seemed all they ever talked about right now.

She wasn’t the only one tired of it.

“This election cannot be over soon enough,” Catherine muttered, shaking her head. Byleth had to nod, since she didn’t want to deal with more demonstrations—or worse, another massacre. She hadn’t been old enough to walk the scene at Duscur, not like Catherine or other detectives who couldn’t shake the memory of it. Some quit. Some drank too much.

Some got stuck on desk duty and hated it.

She glanced towards her father’s office again. She knew how badly things had gone in the wake of Duscur. The former captain had been forced from her position amid cries of corruption and abuse, with many claiming that Rhea had plenty of intelligence indicating that the Blaiddyd family was being targeted by fanatics, gathered by multiple agencies whose analysts had even predicted the location of the attack, with Duscur being the most likely place for such an ambush.

Those loyal to Rhea disagreed, saying that it was a vicious smear campaign created by her enemies. Those same enemies accused her of using the police force as her private army, of prejudice against native tribes like those of Duscur, Brigid, or Dagna, and some even believed she’d created a cult among her followers, her ‘worshippers.’

Her father had almost gotten caught up in the storm that followed, since he’d been considered one of them, a detective trained and who owed his life to Rhea as many did. In the end, it was that fact that turned the tides against her—she’d ‘saved’ nearly everyone on the force, creating a false sense of debt and gratitude, and Jeralt, seeing the pattern, had been trying to stop it from happening to anyone else. He’d managed to spare a few—Catherine and Alois were among them, and there were others like Shamir who were willing to testify against Rhea.

In the end, Rhea and her favored lieutenant, Seteth, had been forced to resign, leaving Jeralt in charge of the force and hating every minute of it. He wanted to be in the field, working, maybe even busting a few heads, not trapped behind a desk dealing with the politics of his position.

Byleth knew others had started to speculate that Jeralt was the vigilante of ever growing legend, the one that had started as a vague rumor among petty criminals and become something monstrous and out of a fairy tale—not the censored kind, but the originals, full of gore and unhappy endings, the stuff nightmares were made of instead of a bedtime story for children.

A beast stalked the streets at night, finding its prey in the lowlifes of the city, leaving the battered forms of thieves, rapists, drug dealers, and murderers on the doorstep of the precinct like an offering. The fact that this guy did so much damage and yet never killed anyone made plenty of people think it was a cop.

She knew it wasn’t her father. She knew his fighting style well, and this wasn’t it. This wasn’t even him trying to fight to obscure his style. She felt sure she’d recognize those signs as well.

No, the beast was someone else.

* * *

Dimitri stared out his window, looking down at the city. If he stood here long enough, the voices would come to him, as they always did, clawing out from the darkness and demanding things he could not give. He would gladly hand their killers over to the dead, avenge them in the bloodiest way possible, if anyone even knew who those killers were.

As it was, they did not.

So he went on, going through the motions of being a person. He hid behind his role as a CEO, pretended his company kept him busy, and he knew that many expected him to take up politics as well, as his father had before him.

He smiled and told them he was considering it, but he knew he was not fit for that role.

If what he suspected of his company’s accounts was true, he likely had a traitor in his midst, and if it did not prove to be his uncle—he almost hoped it was—then it would be someone else he was supposed to trust. He had to know who had done this.

He had to make them pay with his own hands, the same hands already bloodied by so many others he’d hurt and failed.

He heard a knock but did not turn as the door opened. “Dimitri, there’s a detective here to see you.”

“You’re a little late if you wish to question me about what happened this afternoon. As it is, I have already made any official statement I might make and have no desire to discuss the matter.”

“I’m not here for a statement.”

“Oh?” Dimitri turned to look at her, frowning when he did. She didn’t react, just blinked, as if she had no real reaction to his words. He supposed she might not, being a cop and possibly hardened from years of seeing the worst of humanity, even if he would guess she wasn’t much older than him. “Then why did you come?”

“Captain Eisner believes you may be in danger since you stopped the riot. Again.” She looked him over as if he were nothing at all, perhaps quite wanting, or maybe she saw past his facade to the failure that he was. “People may see you as the head of the anti-gun movement and attempt to kill you.”

“Is that so? Then I suspect my bodyguards will find themselves actually enjoying their work for a change,” Dimitri observed, and the woman across from him just kept staring. “I suppose you don’t see the humor in that, though.”

“What, exactly, would be so funny about the idea of someone wanting to kill you?”

He almost smiled. “I suppose it’s more that the police force is offering to do something about it. You know the rumors, of course. Or did he really send someone who is ignorant of that past?”

“No.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t know if Rhea had any part in what happened to your family or not. She’s only one person, and she doesn’t represent the whole police force. This isn’t a political move, if that’s what you’re implying. Jeralt doesn’t play those kinds of games.”

“Perhaps not. Yet his intervention is unnecessary. I have more protection than I care for on a good day.” He crossed toward her. “Your warning has been given. Your duty is done. Now go.”

She shook her head. “My duty isn’t done until I’ve seen to it you’re properly protected.”

He stopped in front of her. She didn’t move or look away, not intimidated by him. Now closer to her, his anger faltered and he became uncomfortably aware that she was a woman and a pretty one at that. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, and that suit was about as unflattering as dress suits got, but she was one of those that could make a burlap bag look good.

He let the anger of the dead wash over him again before attempting to speak again.

“I don’t need or want anything from your department or your captain. I don’t care if he’s not Rhea. You and everyone else should know that my family—what is left of it, that is—wants nothing to do with the police in any form. I did nothing wrong this afternoon, and I have more than adequate protection. Go, or I will have security escort you out.”

She studied him for a moment. “Which is the act? This you or the one on television that inspires the masses?”

He smiled despite everything. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not as much as it should be, no,” she answered slowly, choosing her words with care. “Perhaps both are acts after all and no one knows the true you.”

“Interesting thought.” She seemed to see right through him, but he could not admit that to her, even if he was starting to feel like a flustered schoolboy again under her unflinching stare. “I should say something witty about how you’re not likely to be revealing the true you, either, but my wit fails me in the face of your eyes. Did you know they have small flecks of green in the blue? I have to wonder what they’d look like if you were actually capable of smiling.”

That got a series of rapid blinks as she seemed to process what he was saying. He had to admit that he didn’t even know.

“Were you just…?”

“Ingrid will see you out. Good night, Detective.”

* * *

“Are you joking?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, kid?” Jeralt shook his head. “No. I’m not. I want you on this. Not because it’s me and I expect you to look the other way. I want you on this because you’re the only one I can trust to get it done. As long as this guy is still out there, they’ll be saying it’s me. I’ll go down just as hard as that witch did.”

Byleth tried not to grimace. If it happened like that, as he said, she knew that things would only get worse. It had nothing to do with elections. If the police were seen as corrupt, not just one member and those she betrayed, but all who got this position, they’d really lose.

The media adored its anti-gun violence darling in Dimitri Blaiddyd, there was no denying that, but his step-sister Edelgard had lost her mother in that same tragedy, and her response was not to call for modified laws but an end to the established order. She had already denounced the police on several occasions, not just Rhea but all of them, and it was no secret she used her own private contractors as a military force instead. She would likely put them forward as a solution to the problem that was police corruption.

Byleth had a feeling Edelgard would actually prefer a military state, one led by an iron fist, over the faulty democracy that existed now. Flawed as this system might be, Byleth was in no hurry to see that day come. She didn’t think power should be held by any one person. All it ever did was corrupt them, and she had a feeling Edelgard was already walking a fine line, even if that might just be a prejudice encouraged by the way the media covered her.

She’d been dubbed the “Little Empress,” after all, and she was said to be rather ruthless in her business dealings, having inherited a corporate empire known as Adestria when her father died last year. She was forceful and charismatic, and her strength made her someone people wanted to rally behind even when her methods veered toward extreme.

Her step-brother called for moderation and reform. Edelgard called for a new order.

The beast could be her way of getting it.

“You think she’s behind the vigilante?”

Jeralt grunted. “Wouldn’t put it past her—or anyone else, for that matter. We just don’t know enough. This could be someone working alone. It could be a bunch of people. It almost seems like it has to be, with the kind of numbers this guy is pulling in.”

She nodded. If the beast was one person, that person was the equivalent of an army.

“You won’t be working it alone. I’ve got my best on it—you’ll be with Catherine and Alois to start with. Shamir will join you when she’s back. She’s even got her own personal aide in tow, so don’t think she won’t be helpful. Hanneman will be in charge of processing all the evidence, not that we have much. Manuela’s taking over for the medical examiner at my request.”

Byleth hoped that wouldn’t seem like more abuse of power, even if Manuela was a better doctor drunk than that man ever was sober. “Anything else I should know?”

Her father shook his head. “Not that I can think of. Just… be careful out there, okay? So far this guy has only gone after criminals, but don’t think he won’t turn on the cops now that we’re making a real effort to stop him.”

“You worried about me?”

“Never,” her father said. She headed for the door and did not miss his quiet addition of, “Always.”

* * *

“Dimitri?”

“I have another migraine,” he said, wanting to stave off Ingrid’s concern the moment it reared its head. She fussed like a big sister, and it still hurt sometimes to know that she was more of one to him than Edelgard had ever been, even when their parents were alive and they lived in the same house. He’d been eager for a family back then, had thought his father’s second marriage would mean a full house and lots of siblings. Edelgard always seemed so annoyed by him, and she’d been quick to move back to her father’s home the first chance she got.

He’d still loved her, foolish as that was, though now they didn’t even so much as talk. She felt his position on gun control was too soft—that _he _was too soft—and she had no time to waste on someone she considered weak.

Sometimes that thought made him want to laugh, but if he did, everyone around him would know just how insane he truly was.

As it was, the headaches and seclusion kept that knowledge at bay from most of them. He didn’t think he knew a single person anymore who saw the real him. No one had in years, and he didn’t want them to, not when he could hear the screams of the dead echoing in his head and demanding revenge. He knew how easy it would be to lose himself to that. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done so already.

“Do you want us to bring you anything?”

He shook his head. “No, Ingrid. You go home for the night. I’ll just sleep it off.”

She nodded, going for the door and then stopping to look back at him. “Are you sure? You’ve been having a lot of them lately, and I know we’ve talked about it before, but if—”

“I don’t want to go back to the doctors. They’ve proved there’s nothing they can do. This is my life now,” Dimitri said. He couldn’t taste anything, and the headaches weren’t always an excuse. Some of them were as bad as he made the others believe they all were. “Thank you, Ingrid. I… I do appreciate your concern, but I think it’s best I rest for now.”

She gave him a small smile, one forced and uncomfortable, before shutting the door behind her. He knew it would take her some time to get down to the bottom floor of the Faerghus building, and he had to wait even longer to be sure she gave the message around to the others to establish his cover for the evening.

If Felix was still close to him, he might suspect something by now, but Felix refused to talk to him after Duscur claimed his brother. Angry at the injustice and Rodrigue’s grief over his eldest son, inadvertently holding his younger one to an impossible standard, Felix had gone and disappeared as soon as he was old enough to fend for himself.

No one had heard from Felix in years, though Sylvain had made a few jokes about Felix being the beast of rumor hunting the streets at night.

That always made Dimitri laugh. Not that Felix was a bad fighter, not by any means, but he knew better.

He reached up to pull off his tie. Setting it to the side, he started on the buttons of his dress shirt. It was time to shed this farce and let his true work begin.

* * *

The beast was inaccurate name, Byleth thought.

She and the other task force members had a rotating set of shifts for watching in the night, patrolling the parts of the city where the vigilante seemed the most active, though they always seemed to miss him and find only the aftermath of his work no matter when they came or who was on shift. Alois had started joking about how this guy needed another name and made several terrible attempts to rename him after a ghost or phantom with how he came and went without any notice.

Impossible, it should have been, given how violent he was and the mess he left behind, but he approached in silence, his stealth something most would envy now that she’d gotten a better look at him. Some cellphone images and videos existed, but they didn’t do much justice to the presence this man had or how intimidating he was even before he moved.

His mask was something strange, a design of some kind marked in a pale blue that looked almost grey or white over the black that made up the rest of its blank expression. His clothes were all black as well, not that it was any kind of surprise, though there was nothing that said _beast _about the way he’s dressed.

Unarmed when he appeared from nowhere, he wasted no time in disarming his first opponent, twisting the gun out of his hand into something unrecognizable, and when another rushed him with a bat, he managed to pry it away, using it to swing at the thug’s knees hard enough to shatter them in one blow. He crumpled to the ground, moaning and cursing as the vigilante dropped the bat again. For a moment, she thought he was bored.

Those men weren’t any real challenge for him—how could they be if he was capable of breaking a gun with his bare hands and trained, too. She could see his movements weren’t that of just any fighter. This one had some classical training, knew footwork and timing better than someone educated only by the streets. She wasn’t saying that street fighting didn’t have its own strength and couldn’t be an art in of itself, but she could tell this man was someone with practiced technique—several of them, even. He changed between them as often as he changed opponents and makeshift weapons.

This man had been honed for war.

She didn’t see anything to suggest a particular branch of the military, nor could she be sure he had ever been a soldier. He fought like a man on a mission, yes, but that didn’t mean he saw this as one.

She repeated the whisper of her location into her comm, not sure what was taking the others so long but knowing that as soon as the last man here fell, the beast was as good as gone. She had to move quickly unless she wanted him to get away.

She moved to intercept him and almost lost her head, ducking at the last second to avoid the metal pipe he was holding. She dodged to the left to avoid his next swing, trying to find balance and knowing she’d never get a shot off before he rushed her. She’d seen enough of his speed, and while she was not unskilled herself, she didn’t think the odds were with her if she stuck to her gun.

“You always attack everyone you meet, or did I just get unlucky?”

Despite the expressionlessness of his mask, he seemed to focus on her gun all the same. She’d heard nothing from him during the fight besides a few grunts and even a bit of an animalistic growl, and she wasn’t expecting words, not really.

“If it helps, I’ll tell you you’re under arrest.”

His laughter didn’t sound the least bit sane, and she shivered as she heard it, that momentary bit of weakness giving him the opportunity he needed. He moved, catching her and slamming her back against the wall hard enough for her vision to waver.

“This,” he said, prying the gun from her faltering hold, “won’t stop me.”

She could only watch as he crushed it in his hand. “And me?”

“Don’t get in my way again.”

He let go of her and her legs went out from under her, her whole body aching as she went down, unable to do more than get onto her hands and knees. By then, he was already long out of sight.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not in any way meant to be a political piece (I hate politics, please don't start trying to discuss them with me) but the issues felt adaptable to the circumstances, so I used them as a partial basis. Certain positions lined up with what this AU was going for. Dimitri having a "Brucey" persona where he played at being a mindless rich man who chased women and endless fun was not something I could picture his character doing, so the contrast between his two personas was to have him with a public persona that spoke against violence while his private one was about vengeance did seem much more in character with what we see of Dimitri pre-timeskip, so that is what I did.


End file.
